IT seemed a long month to Max and Thekla, but at last it was over. The 31st of January came. Grandfather was tucked up early in bed, the fire was poked, the tin can brought out, and all made ready. The children sat in expectation. At last there came a rap at the door.

“Walk in,” cried Max; and February entered. He was a short, thick-set fellow, with red eyes, a red nose, and a gruff, surly voice. Very unhappy he looked just now; and when Max pulled up a chair for him, he sat down on the edge, and began,—

“Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking,”—

“Hallo!” cried Max, interrupting him. “That’ll never do in the world. That’s a horrid beginning: you must try again.”

“Oh, must I?” said February, much relieved. “I thought I had to take pains with my language. People who ‘address the young’ usually do. Well, if I may go ahead in my own way it’s all right: you’ve taken a weight off my mind.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Max; “but before you begin, where’s the gift?”

“Here,” said February; and he pulled from his pocket something that looked like a big icicle. It was an icicle, only it didn’t melt in your fingers or feel cold; and it had a delicious taste, like buckwheat cakes, maple molasses, sausages, baked apples, turkey, cranberry sauce, and nuts and raisins, all at once. Max broke it in two, and while Thekla sucked one half and he the other, February began:—

“It’s only about the bears in the North-West Hollow.”

“Bears!” cried Max: “what bears?”

“A real nice family of bears who live up there. Last year when I saw them, they were little fellows about the size of kittens; but they are quite big now, and have got grown-up growls. I thought perhaps you’d like to hear about ’em.”

Oh, wouldn’t they? Both children crept close to him, and drank in every word with red cheeks and round eyes.

“Bears!” cried Max, quite stuttering with excitement. “I didn’t know there were any in the Forest. Oh, do go on!”

“They used to lie all curled up in a heap,” continued February, “at the bottom of a nest in the rocks, which their mother had lined with leaves and moss to keep them warm. They looked just like funny bundles of brown hair. There were four of them,—Snap, Snooze, Roll-about, and Greedy. Roll-about was the fattest and the best-natured, but they were all nice. They lay tangled together, and couldn’t help pulling each other’s fur a good deal; but they quarrelled much less than most brothers and sisters who live in such close quarters.

“I went away before they were old enough to go out, so I couldn’t tell you much about them if it were not for April. April and I,” said February, with a sentimental air, “were always great friends. She used to see the Mamma Bear and her little ones go walking together. One day when they were in the wood a barking of dogs and blowing of horns was heard.

“‘Run! run!’ cried Mamma; and off they went,—all but Greedy who had straggled away in pursuit of a honey-tree. He was too young to know how to take care of himself, and getting confused ran into the very track of the hunters. They would have killed him, but one shouted, ‘Take him alive! take him alive! I want him;’ so instead they put him into a sack and carried him away.

“Nothing more was heard of him for a long time. The others were sorry, but they went prowling about all summer stuffing themselves with good things, and did very well without him. By October they were as fat as pigs. And all of a sudden one day, as they were lunching on ground-nuts in a lonely place among the hills, as happy and friendly as could be, they heard a scratching of claws, and smelt a fur which seemed uncommonly familiar; and lo and behold! it was Greedy, back again, as big as any of them, but not nearly so fat.

“Of course they growled with astonishment, and flew to meet him. He was glad too, but his manner seemed a little cold. Where had he been? Oh! he had been in a town of Germany getting his education. And where had he been living? Oh! in the family of his tutor of course. Slept in the same room with the children, and treated like a child. None of them knew what a tutor might be; and Roll-about asked innocently if it was something good to eat, but Greedy shook his head. The town was a college town, he said. All persons of refinement were sent there to study.

“‘Are you a person of refinement, Greedy?’ asked little Snooze.

“Greedy froze him with a look. He didn’t answer, but went on with his tale. He had learned to dance. He could pick out the Ace of Hearts, and A, B, and Z from the alphabet. He could jump over a stick. This last he did on the spot, to show them how it went; and, in the middle of the jump, Snap noticed something which made him cry out, ‘O Greedy! your poor paws! What is the matter with them? They’re all brown, and dried up?’

“Greedy looked foolish. ‘Oh!’ he replied, ‘that’s nothing: they—they—got a little burnt one day,—that’s all,—on some hot iron. Stoves are very hot in Germany.’

“Mamma looked queer when she heard this, and relieved her feelings by a low growl. The little ones could not tell what to make of it.

“When asked how he managed to get back, Greedy explained it in this way: ‘He was travelling,’ he said, ‘with some friends. They were in a cage together, which was the fashionable way of going about just now. By an accident, the cage upset and some of the bars broke; and, as it was so near home, Greedy thought he might as well run over, and make them a visit.’ All this he said with a lofty air, and the brothers and sister believed every word of it; but Mamma put her tongue in her cheek, and gently pointed over her left shoulder with her paw.

“They had a grand walk home; but no sooner had they got there, than Greedy began to find fault with every thing in the most unpleasant manner. The Hollow was the dampest hole he ever had seen. No place was fit to live in without a stove. As for the food, it was horrid. It gave him the stomach-ache, he declared; and he called for beef-steaks, as if he expected a butcher to appear round the corner. When the honeycomb was brought in, he fell upon it tooth and nail, and ate a great deal more than his share. Mamma reproved him; but he snubbed her, and said that was the way all the children did in the city; and when poor little Roll-about, who had to go without any, gave a low whine or two just to comfort herself, he boxed her ears with his paw savagely, and then excused himself by telling them that Master Jack, his tutor’s son, often cuffed his sister, Miss Gretchen, in that way, and nobody took any notice. It wasn’t any particular consolation to Roll-about to hear of it, and she crept away into a lonely corner, and moaned and licked her paws for a long time.

“Master Jack and Miss Gretchen,”—how the Bear family did learn to hate those children! Every rude and disagreeable thing Greedy did, he quoted them as examples. Jack, it seemed, said, ‘I won’t,’ and fought for his dinner; and Gretchen scratched and bit right and left; and they quarrelled with each other. Their evil example had ruined all that was good in poor Greedy. He said the most unpleasant things. He found fault with every thing. He pitched into the others on all occasions, and boxed Roll-about’s ears till the hair grew quite thin. Then he advised her to use ‘bears’ grease.’ ‘All the city young ladies did so,’ he said; but what good was that, when the poor little thing could get none but her own,—or his, which, as you may suppose, he wasn’t very likely to offer her!

“‘Oh,’ Mrs. Bear used to say to herself, ‘if I only had Master Jack and Miss Gretchen here, wouldn’t I give them a lesson?’ And as Greedy, for all his fault-finding, had such a big appetite, that provisions were growing scarce, two or three bad children, needing to be eaten by way of example, would have been convenient. Every thing went wrong in the once happy home. The brothers and sisters were always sulking in corners, and complaining to each other in low growls of the way in which Greedy had treated them. Roll-about lost her plump sides, and grew thin. Snap was finding out the advantages of bad temper, and beginning to carry on like Greedy. At last Mrs. Bear declared she would stand it no longer.

“‘You are grown up,’ she said: ‘go out and shift for yourself. As long as you were good and content, I was glad to have you here: now you only make my life miserable, and I can’t endure it.’ And she raised her large paw, and showed her teeth, for the first time in her life; and Greedy, with a snarl of fright, slunk away from the den.

“Out of her sight, however, his temper revived. He got into a great huff. ‘Leave the den?’ Of course he would, and very glad to see the last of it. So he went and chose a hole for himself to live in. It was quite close to the village,—a great deal too close for safety. But the silly creature had lost all his instinct by living with human beings. And whenever the bells rang or any thing seemed to be going on, he would rush out to peep, and find what it was. I only wonder they didn’t catch him long ago.”

“Did they catch him, then?” asked Max.

“You shall hear. Only yesterday it was that a caravan with a band of music came into the village. Greedy heard the sounds, and it seemed as if he would go wild. He dodged among the bushes, and looked on as long as he could stand it, and then, seized with a desire to distinguish himself, out he came. The circus people couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw him prancing after them, his head on one side, and taking steps like a dancing-master. Of course such a prize was not to be resisted. They lost no time; and, when I caught sight of them, poor Greedy had already a muzzle on his jaws and a rope round his neck. A boy was banging his sides with a stick, his tail was between his legs, and I must say,” ended February, laughing heartily, “he didn’t look particularly happy at being taken back into fashionable life after this manner.”

“That’s first-rate,” cried Max, in fits of amusement.

“I’m so glad you liked it,” replied February, much pleased. “Now I’ll trouble you for my thumb-nail and left ear-tip.”

The can was brought, and Max carefully measured out what was wanted. February kissed Thekla’s hand (the tip of his nose felt very cold), made a clumsy bow to both, and went away.

The children hugged each other. “If they’re all like that,” cried they, “how jolly it will be!”